


How are you?

by crush (beekeepercain)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, First Time, Jealous Dean, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9378554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/crush
Summary: Josh is good-looking. Dean hates it as he stands by his car, waiting for Sam to appear; he practically stalks the guy with the same kind of a look he'd normally reserve for a murderous restless spirit. He's tall, and the way Sam's talked about him, he's smart, too - for a sports player, anyway. A quiet growl escapes Dean as he readjusts against the Impala, eyes finally shifting. He can't bear to look at him anymore.And then Sam's there, tall as ever, lanky as ever, with his stupid curls bending softly against his forehead, and the stubborn red pimple on the other side of his nose making it look like his mole's got a twin. He's shining, and Dean's stomach twists uncomfortably. He tries to hide it - he's been trying to hide it for a long time now. Josh is just making it so much freaking worse, he thinks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another request! As a disclaimer, Sam's 15 in this fic, so, you know. Underage and all that. Beware.

* * *

 

Josh is good-looking. Dean hates it as he stands by his car, waiting for Sam to appear; he practically stalks the guy with the same kind of a look he'd normally reserve for a murderous restless spirit. He's tall, and the way Sam's talked about him, he's smart, too - for a sports player, anyway. A quiet growl escapes Dean as he readjusts against the Impala, eyes finally shifting. He can't bear to look at him anymore. And then Sam's there, tall as ever, lanky as ever, with his stupid curls bending softly against his forehead, and the stubborn red pimple on the other side of his nose making it look like his mole's got a twin. He's shining, and Dean's stomach twists uncomfortably. He tries to hide it - he's been trying to hide it for a long time now. Josh is just making it so much freaking worse, he thinks.

"Heya, little brother. Hop in."

They drive across town to the motel; Sam's not talking much, not so much as a word after asking him how his day at his part-time job went. John's gone, and who the hell knows for how long again. He calls daily, but what it means is that it's just the two of them again.

The two of them and Josh, who's taken a too big of an interest in Dean's brother.

It's not fair, really, for Dean to hate him for it. Sam needs friends. He's that kind of a kid who always needs people around him, tries to make connections, even though it's desperate and - well, he's not a kid anymore. Maybe there's a driving purpose behind that, some longing for normalcy that he tries to envelope himself with each time they move town. Slowly but certainly, he resumes it. But Dean's not meant to feel like this about it, yet it's grown inside him ever since, really, a long forever ago. This fear that something, someone, will tear Sam away from him. And Sam's not even into guys, not as far as Dean knows, anyway. Josh isn't his type; he's not a bookish, nerdy blonde. He's a basketball player with short dark hair and soulful goddamn eyes and puffy lips that look like the nicest thing to kiss if you're a girl or someone just looking for a damn good kiss. Dean runs his tongue over his own lips and shudders; nope, he doesn't want that.

Or does he?

Not from Josh, is the point. Nervously, he glances at Sam, unaware of what the guy just asked him.

"Huh?"

"I asked if you're gonna pick me up tomorrow, or if I'm taking the bus. Jesus, Dean."

"Sure, I'm picking you up. The store lets me out around three anyway."

"Good. Thanks."

"No problem."

They park before the motel and Dean waits for Sam to hop out like a bodyguard prowling just a couple steps after him. They lock themselves indoors and really, the heat's getting there; it's seeping through the thin walls and the flimsy door and the chain on the door's not keeping that one out. Dean discards his flannel on the chair and joins it soon after; he watches his brother set his bag beside the bed and jump right in, ready to start homework. Always like a clockwork.

He's grown so goddamn pretty. It's unfair, Dean thinks; that he's suddenly the shorter brother and Sam's the taller, and Sam's not really a boy in any way anymore, with broad shoulders and long limbs that go on for miles, with a sharp jawline and brows that make his gaze always look alert and thoughtful. He's grown out his hair again, and the thick curls cover the tips of his ears, settle close to his neck like bark-brown waves upon a shoreline, and Dean feels a certain tingling all over his skin when he watches the back of Sam's neck turn for his ear and the way his Adam's apple jumps as he swallows and exhales wearily as he picks up a pen and starts taking notes.

Then he remembers he's not supposed to be looking. His heart isn't supposed to be racing and he's not supposed to be staring at Sam to begin with, as who the hell keeps watching his own brother study like this, anyway? What kind of a freak cares this much?

Dean swallows and picks himself up.

"Gonna take a walk, Sammy."

 

* * *

 

He comes back to an empty room an hour later with a bag of chips and a large bottle of coke in tow. There's a note on the table;  
  


_Dad called. He's okay, and thinks he's coming back in a few days tops. I'm out with some friends for a couple hours. Don't freak out._  
_-S._  
  


Dean drops back into the chair and tries to solve the blockage in his throat. Great. A sense of idle frustration lingers inside him and he's not sure what to do with it - what he could, really, do with it? He should let Sam go - let him be with his friends. When Dad comes back, they're not going to be here anymore. But fuck, anything could happen in a few days. And it's not for the lack of trying that things _haven't_ already. This is the fifth day in row that Sam's just gone somewhere, dropped off with half a note or less, and went to play ball or whatever with this same gang. And Dean's seen them, the way Josh leaves his arm around his brother's shoulders, the way Sam laughs at him.

Slowly, he buries his head in his hands and tries to breathe.

"This isn't normal," he tells himself in a muffle voice, dragging his hands down and looking blindly out the window, "You're not fucking normal. Get a grip. Let him be."

Why the fuck would he be jealous? Why would it matter if Sam went and got himself a boyfriend? Would it matter if he suddenly turned gay, after crushing on at least one girl per school they've been to? He's never so much as said a suspicious thing about any guy, and Sam's not _that_ good at keeping secrets from Dean, especially not when it comes to romance. Dean knew about Sasha. He knew about Jolene. He knew even about Alex, the Asian girl who was two years ahead of Sam and who Sam tried his best to cover his crush to, even though Dean really found out about that one by accident. He's never missed a single one of the people who made his brother's heart skip beats. But it's not about the same-sex part. Dean doesn't think he'd care, in particular, whether Sam showed up with Josh or Jolene this year and called it a date. The very thought of _someone_ , anyone, hanging by his arm makes his blood boil.

And that's not normal.

How lonely does a guy have to be to care this much about being left behind by his own brother?

But that's not counting the rest of the evidence.

Dean shifts again. He screws open the bottle of coke and takes a sip even though he's barely tasting anything. Fuck. His fingertips are growing cold and his heart's racing as he watches a couple cross the parking lot. It's not - he doesn't - want Sam to not date. Does he? Why would he? He should be overjoyed at the thought of his brother getting some, even if fifteen is probably a bit too young for a short night of romance with someone he barely knows. But he isn't. It doesn't excite him to think of Sam entering the world of men with anyone from his school right now. Christ, he didn't wait that long after his own fifteenth to enter it himself, and it's really not that he's protective of Sam either in this specific area, so why - why?

A throbbing inside his head, a weight or a pressure, tries to make itself known, but Dean suffocates it and pushes it back into his subconscious.

He shouldn't be thinking about this at all.

"Just let it pass," he mutters as he lowers his head against his crossed arms on the table and breathes slowly to make the time move by quicker.

 

* * *

 

Sam's never late. He comes back at half past nine again, exactly as they've promised each other they would - the same goes for Dean, if he chose to go out. As long as it's just the two of them, they've got to keep their word to one another, and never stay out too late, just in case. He's sweaty and smiling, and heads straight into the shower; Dean's eyes catch onto the bathroom door once he's inside, and he listens to Sam bang into a few things on his way to the shower.

"Had a good one?" he asks over the white noise of the shower.

"Mm-hmm," Sam replies, his voice, while loud, barely carrying through the wall.

He takes seven minutes before emerging again, a towel wrapped around his thin hips. Dean shivers violently as he twists back around to stare at the comic book resting over his thighs. The bed creaks as he adjusts.

"So you were out with that, what's his name again? Joe?"

"Josh."

"Right."  
Dean grimaces, but Sam's pulling on his underwear and doesn't notice.  
"He seems like a jerk to me, Sammy, why are you so fond of him anyway?"

"A jerk?"

"Yeah. He's a popular kid, isn't he? Popular kids are always rotten."

Sam scoffs.  
"That's kinda prejudiced, Dean. He's fine. He's damn smart, he can talk about anything. Science, religion, politics -"

"Why on earth would you want to talk about politics? Or religion? Sounds boring to me," Dean asks, lifting his brows as he watches Sam pull on a loose v-neck from his bag.

Sam gives him a nasty look.  
"Yeah, all you want to talk about are chicks."

"Shut up, Sam. I'm not like that. But if you really want to talk about stuff like that, why not talk with me?"

Now, Dean earns himself a long look. Sam sits on his bed a couple feet away from Dean's and chuckles.  
"You just said it, didn't you? You don't want to talk about them, so -"

"Hell, have you tried me? Ever?"

"That's not the point. I like Josh. He's cool, and for some reason, he isn't scared of the fact that I'm a freak who lives in a motel room with no parents to speak of."

"You've got Dad," Dean argues, but dully; he knows it's not worth jack when John isn't there, and Sam doesn't bother replying.

"Anyway, I just wanted to - I don't know. Dad's coming back. I want to spend time with them because in a week or something, we're gone again. We both know it. So..."

Dean turns his eyes away. He reads the rest of the page from his comic book, turns it, but doesn't know how to concentrate anymore, so he closes the book and places it on the bedside table. Then he turns to look at Sam again.

"You in love with him or something?" he hears himself ask in a much sharper tone than intended.

It takes Sam by surprise: he freezes on the bed and a few expressions ranging from shocked to disbelieving to angry cross his features.  
"What?" he asks, as if unable to believe that Dean just said what he did.

Dean wants to take it back.

"Nothing," he grunts and pulls his knees up to his chest like a little kid.

Sam doesn't let him retreat.

"Why do you care?" he asks next, turning towards Dean and flinging his legs over the side of the bed on that side. He leans forwards against them and stares at Dean challengingly; it's going to be another fight, and a fight is just about the last thing Dean wants right now.

"I don't."

"Well, clearly you do. For the record, I'm not in love with him. But you sure sound like you're jealous, so -"

"Well, maybe I am. So what, Sam? You're saying I can't be jealous when you're spending every last minute with some guy you barely know and you're not giving me so much as a hello when I pick you up after school every single fucking day -"

"You've never cared to talk in the car, anyway, Dean! Why should I suddenly -"

"Again, have you fucking tried, Sam? Maybe I want to talk. Maybe I want to know how you're doing -"

"SO ASK ME."

Sam's standing. He's between the beds and Dean's looking up at him and he's breathing a little funny, but he's not sure if he's more annoyed or amused by the sight of his huge little brother towering at him, fuming with anger, in that limited space between the two motel beds.

"Alright," he says calmly, "How're you doing?"

The next thing he knows, Sam's on the bed with him. He doesn't really know what to think of it before Sam's crawled on top of him and his lips are right there and Dean can't breathe when they join - he's frozen for a good long while, eyes pressed closed as if expecting a blow in the face, with his brother kissing him hard and his own fists gripping the bedsheets like he's afraid he's going to fall out if he doesn't hold on for dear life. Then, reason finds him; he grabs Sam by the shoulders and throws him aside, and Sam lands on his side next to Dean, barely clinging to the bed. He's flustered and red and holding his breath, and Dean's breathless and his heart's about to explode in his chest, and he wants to cry and he wants to shout but he's suddenly unable to escape that pressure inside his body telling him _exactly_ how jealous he's been of Josh this whole time, and _exactly_ why he's felt that way. Then, just when Sam's about to pull up and leave, Dean grabs him again and pulls him back. This time, the kiss is much slower, and it's got an apologetic, scared tone to it; their lips slip over and against each other in a gentler fashion, as if marking down the bruises from the previous impact. Dean feels like he's not getting in enough air, but Sam's moving onto his lap and his hips press into Dean's, making his shudder and gasp.

"Sam, no - we - no, this isn't right."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam mutters as he lets their mouths part; he presses his forehead against Dean's, and he really sounds sorry, too, "I'm a fuck-up, I'm disgusting, I know, this - this isn't right, you're - I just - I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean nods, but he can't stop his lips from burning, and he can't stop wanting to resume the kiss. Sam's lips felt so good against him - his whole body feels so good against his, like it belongs there, like they should be like this. And it's _wrong,_ and he knows he'll hate himself tomorrow for it, and that he won't be able to live with it, but right now... it's all he wants to just be here with Sam.

"Turn off the lights," he hears himself breathe out, "Please."

Sam nods, and he reaches for the bedside lightswitch and presses it. The motel room sinks into a blue-tinted, quiet darkness illuminated by the motel's lights outside and the town's glow through the window facing away from the parking lot. Dean looks at his brother, and he wraps his arms around him and pulls him close: Sam lets him do it, and he sinks against Dean's chest and his breathing hitches a little.

"How - Dean - what are you - thinking, right now?" he asks, his fingers bending into Dean's shirt.

Dean brings his knee against Sam's back mostly to hold him just a little closer still, and he swallows thickly.

"I'm conflicted, I guess? I mean - obviously, I'm... this - we shouldn't - but, uh. Why did you...?"

"I don't know. I've felt like this for ages, Dean, and I can't fucking help it. It's just there, always, all the time, and I wanted to - I don't know. It's - just beat me up or something. Fix me, Dean."

"I..."

Dean swallows.

"I can't fix you," he says then, "I can't fix you because - fuck - I don't know how to fix me, either. I don't think beating you up would make us any better, Sam."

"Can I ask something of you, then?" Sam asks him quietly, and Dean chuckles.

"You just did, kiddo."

"Don't call me that."

"Pfft."

Sam chuckles breathlessly, too. Then he pulls himself back a little, but his head's hanging and he doesn't dare to look Dean in the eye.

"I want - you. I want you," he says.

"Huh."

"I - need you. I want to - fuck, how do you do this? I know you've been with girls before but I've never - I don't know how to ask for this. Dean, just - fuck me."

"What?"

Sam shivers.  
"How do you want me to ask for it?" he growls and turns a sharp gaze towards Dean, "I can't - I want this. I want you. And I know it's fucked up and I shouldn't but I already got this far. Please."

"You - Sam. Fuck. It shouldn't be like this, you know that, Sam, we're - we're, Sam -"

"Don't say it. I know. I _know._ I didn't just forget, alright? I know. And I know what I'm asking. I'm ready. I just - I need it to be you. Like everything else in my life. I don't want anybody else."

There's a long, tense silence. Dean swallows: he can't say he doesn't want it, too. Just Sam saying it to him makes his body react in ten different ways, and not one of them is from disgust or any other negative feeling. He's nervous, alright. He's scared, and frankly, he's a bit panicked, too. But Sam sounds certain, the way he always sounds when he wants something and he's thought it through.

"You... sure about this, Sammy?"

Sam nods slowly.  
"I've been for a while," he admits and even dares to look at Dean again.

Just as slowly, Dean nods, too.  
"This your first?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

"Yep."

"Then - I guess we'll take our time."

 

* * *

 

They sit there for a good while, just feeling each other out with their hands; it's weird for Dean, but the longer they wait before jumping head first into anything more, the more comfortable he gets with it. Sam's pliant and soft and full of trembling energy - he seems nervous, but to Dean's relief, it's clearly of the good kind. He catches his brother suppressing grins and smiles all the time in an attempt at seeming, what, more professional about it, like fun's not allowed while petting, and now more than ever he just seems so detached from the boy he was barely a year ago. Dean misses that kid, and he has to look at Sam now to remind himself that he's really gone now, but Sam's muscle and angles and thin as a stick as opposed to round and smooth the way he used to be. And his mind's so different by now, too - he's calculative, almost fox-like, alert and thoughtful at all times. He knows what he wants, Dean tells himself, even though this still rings wrong to him in all the ways it could.

It's his goddamn brother.

 _At least he isn't giving this away to that fucking Josh,_ his brain rings right back at him, and a short groan escapes him. Sam chuckles.

"What?" he asks, his voice, too, a little nervous.

"Nothing. Mind your own business," Dean chuckles.  
He runs his hand over Sam's back and brings him in, and Sam takes it as his cue to kiss Dean again. His mouth tastes like coke, and Dean wonders when he stole a sip out of the bottle.

"You really, really sure about this? I mean, it's - it should be special. This - this should be," Dean carries on when the kiss breaks enough for him to draw breath.

Sam nods.  
"Stop askin'," he growls and pushes his hips down so that Dean's breath catches and a flood of blush rushes to his cheeks.  
For a moment Sam stays there, watching him keenly; then he backs off, crawls off Dean's lap entirely. He sits, cross-legged, next to him on the bed and for the first time he looks conflicted and uncertain.

"How about you?" he asks, glancing at Dean with a nervous look.

"What about me?" Dean asks back, frowning and turning for him; his hand reaches for Sam clumsily, stopping multiple times on the way to reconsider before his fingertips finally slip over his brother's shoulder.

"Are you sure? You're holding back. I don't know if you're just playing along for me, and I don't want that. The last thing I want - I don't - Dean, I don't want to hurt you. If you think this'll -"

"Shut up," Dean mutters, his ears still burning hot, "No. I'm not doing this just for you. I'm just, I should be protecting you, and this - ain't that, Sam, I don't know if... if I can - you know."

"Should we stop?"

They're quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, Dean shakes his head carefully.

"Don't want to," he confesses, "At all."

"Me neither," Sam laughs tensely, and after hesitating for the briefest moment, his back hits the mattress. He reaches his hand out for Dean and pulls him over until Dean's crawling on top of him on all fours, trying to retain balance.

"So if we both want this," Sam starts, letting the rest of the sentence die out.

Dean nods.  
"I'm sorry," he says anyway, and Sam shakes his head.

"I'm not," he says, "Not if you really want this, too."

A small smile crosses Dean's lips, and he nods again, this time with more confidence. He sinks into his brother, lips moving over his neck and tongue catching a lick of his Adam's apple - the same one he's watched bob with each swallow, with the smooth syllables of Sam's voice when he speaks and especially when he snaps or raises his voice against Dean. It's exhilarating to taste the skin over it, the prickling of carelessly-shaven facial hair growing there, and from there Dean keeps kissing him all over his neck, making Sam's back bend upwards to bring his body that much closer to Dean. His hips are impatient and needy, but Dean feels him hold back from full contact with them - perhaps he's afraid of coming too fast, of getting enough of this before they can so much as start. Still, Dean grasps his hips from both sides and brings them up against his own, and Sam gasps and shivers under his touch, his hands reaching to hold Dean by his shoulders, from which they then move down over his lower back as Dean lets him down again. He's grinning and blushing as hard as Dean is, but the colour on him is barely visible in the darkness.

"Imagine if Dad came home right now," he says with a hint of fear in his voice.

Dean swallows thickly.

"He'd kill me, first off," he says with a hint of terrified humour in his tone although he doesn't have the capacity to doubt the truth in his words, "But secondly - luckily - he's not coming today, not even if he'd started driving when he called you. Milwaukee is a long fucking way away from here, Sammy."

"I'm just saying," Sam breathes out, closing his eyes.

"Wait," Dean scoffs as he moves his fingers to pull off Sam's shirt, feeling him play along right away without hesitation, "This is just one of your moves to piss him off, isn't it?"

"Shut up," Sam laughs, "But yeah, definitely. I'm hooking up with my brother to piss Dad off, because I haven't found enough ways to do that by just being myself yet. You caught me."

"I hate you," Dean mumbles against his collarbones, mouth full of the taste of his freshly washed skin.

"Do you?"

"Yep."

Sam's smile is loud in the way he breathes. He adjusts against Dean's touches and lets out the first small moan in response to them when Dean wraps his lips around his erect nipple; he shifts again, hips stealing one brush against Dean's body despite his careful control over them. Dean's instinctively respond to the touch by grinding down, and he has to pull back to get over the dizzy spell the feel of Sam's hard cock underneath his black underwear has suddenly put him through.

"I swear, if you ask me one more time if I'm okay with this, Dean, I'm gonna -"

"No, I'm not asking," Dean grunts and presses his mouth against Sam's stomach this time, "I'm beyond that, kid. Now the only way you can get out of this is if you slap me in the face and scream."

"I'll remember that," Sam laughs.  
His body's so sensitive: it responds to Dean's every move, his muscles twitching and skin turning to goosebumps, with shivers and shudders and jumps like punctuation marking each transition from place to place. But Dean hesitates again at the waistband of his boxer-briefs. He raises his head just enough to glance at Sam's face, and Sam's looking down at him with a nervous expression.

"You think you can handle me touching you?" Dean asks him near-casually as he sits up over Sam's knees.

Slowly, Sam shakes his head, red in the face again.  
"Honestly? No," he confesses, earning a grin from Dean.

"Alright. So - what do you want to do?" Dean asks him, suppressing the urge to make fun of him now. That's not the kind of a memory he wants to leave - maybe later, if they make the same mistake again.

"You ever - done it with a guy before?" Sam asks him, his voice unconfident but curious.

Dean grimaces.  
"Nope," he says, "But I've, um, tried it that way with a girl, if you know what I mean."

An expression of slight relief spreads over Sam's face and he nods.

"Well," he carries on, "If you want to..."

"You'd have to be really damn sure about this," Dean reminds him, "Know how to relax your body, all sorts of shit that only comes with experience."

A defiant flash crosses Sam's eyes and he pushes himself up on his elbows.  
"I think you're not getting the picture here," he scoffs, "You think I've been pure, Dean? While you and Dad have been hunting, you think I haven't -"

"Whoa, wait. Too much information."

"Dean, you're about to sleep with me."

Dean reconsiders. Then he shrugs with a laugh.  
"I guess. Still, don't tell me. Keep some things to yourself, buddy."

"Fine. Anyway, I think I can handle you."

"Fine. But we don't have any -"

"Lube? We've got a ton of creams. The cream we use for healing cuts has been slippery enough -"

"Sam, for fuck's sake."

Sam laughs. He rests back on the bed, and to Dean's shock, he grabs the waistband of his boxers and starts pulling them off. With a jump, Dean escapes him; he dances a few steps away from the bed, turns swiftly, and heads for the first-aid kit where they keep the creams instead to distract himself.

Damn, the kid's grown big in more ways than just one.

"You think _you_ can touch me without coming right away, Dean?" Sam asks him with a distinctive hint of tease in his voice.

Dean throws a random gesture up into the air with his hand as he picks up the cream both himself and Sam have been using for purposes it really wasn't bought for. He's mostly certain. Mostly. When he returns, he forces himself to look at Sam, as briefly as it happens.

"Fuck," he mutters, and Sam lets out another chuckle, this one more held-back and uncertain.

To Dean's shock, he runs his fingers over the shape of his cock; there's a drop of precome already at the tip, and Dean just wants to charge off and run until he collapses at the side of some road leading out to nowhere. Instead, he places the cream onto the bed and starts stripping. It's easier than seeing Sam do it - he's done it plenty of times now, and Sam's seen him before.

"You ready?" he asks, settling next to Sam on the bed.

Sam nods, and as he spreads his legs with some tension in them, Dean notices him tremble.

"Sure?"

"100%."

"Alright, then. Let's - do this. You wanna prep yourself? Think you've got it?" Dean asks him, unable to bring himself to treat Sam to any touches just yet.

With ever-deepening blush on his features, Sam nods.  
"I've got it."

 

* * *

 

Their bodies join with surprising ease. Dean rests his weight towards Sam and lets it happen at its own pace, but Sam's open for him and surprisingly relaxed, circumstances considered. His flesh is hot and wet and the tightness feels like it's going to blind Dean with pleasure, and he really has to hold back not to climax right away; his cheeks are red and he lets out a shaky gasp as he stops moving for a moment to make absolutely sure that he won't do that. Sam breathes out in a way that could be interpreted as a chuckle; he reaches his hand up, the one that isn't clenched around the sheets, and brushes his fingers through Dean's short hair.

"Go on," he mumbles, "It's good."

"Not hurtin'?"

"Nope."

"Good. That's - yeah."

In another movement, they're as close as they're ever going to get in this life. Dean moves his hand under Sam's shoulders and props him up; he holds him close as he starts moving, feeling Sam's legs first hold tight around his waist and then relax again as they set a pace together. They go slow - Dean wouldn't have it any other way with a virgin, anyway, much less his own brother that he'd kill and die for to protect - but Sam's receptive and rocks back against Dean, his eyes closed and lips parted. They're quiet, too, for the most part. They've both learned it the hard way, Dean thinks; no privacy means that all of this has always had to be held a very silent secret in the presence of other people who sleep just as light as they would. The bed creaks to the rhythm of their bodies moving upon it, and sometimes the headboard knocks into the wall making Sam break into a grin. He's attractive as all fuck like that, grinning in that breathless, aroused manner; he catches Dean looking, and Dean lets out a gasping laugh at the feeling of being caught in the act. He pushes deeper into his brother and gains a moan from him, then does it again just to feel him tremble against him, and Sam's holding him and pushing back against him until they're not just making love anymore but fucking, raw and simple and animalistic, both thrusting and pounding against the other. Dean knows Sam's close just from the act alone, but with a daring grin, he finally pushes himself to wrap his hand around his brother's cock. That very moment, he nearly regrets it: the other clamps around him, forcing him to slow down with another deep thrust, and Sam gasps and pushes right down into him to get him deeper. He's leaking, not quite coming yet, but when Dean moves again with his fist sliding over Sam's cock, he's gone.

A tense shudder rushes through Sam's body and he lets out a yelp or a mewl of some sort, rushes up and presses his teeth into the side of Dean's neck, and Dean shudders, too, his body instinctively turning back to the harder rhythm as Sam's body relaxes around him with a hot mess now pooling between their bodies and all over his stomach.

"Can I - inside?" Dean asks him, barely managing words.

Sam nods sharply.  
"Please," he says in a hoarse whisper and lets out a tired laughter to top it; it's that sound, that throughoutly satisfied voice, that brings Dean over the edge.

God, he loves Sam so fucking much. It's the only thing he can think of when he thrusts against Sam and stays there, feeling his whole body pulse with pleasure, his eyes shut tight and his heart skipping beats here and there. And then he's over Sam, slowly sliding out of his body; his hand is caught in Sam's hair, feeling the wetness of sweat gathering there and mixing together with the remaining moisture from the shower he took earlier. With a trembling smirk, he rolls off the other's body and brings an arm around him, seeking eye contact with him through the haze of fading pleasure.

"So?" he asks nervously, "How's that for a first time?"

Sam forces his eyes closed, and the smile on him is gentle and pleased and calm.  
"Perfect," he mutters, patting around the bed to collect the hem of the blanket they've kicked all over the place, "Thanks, Dean."

"You're, uh. Welcome?"

With a push, Sam sends Dean back onto his back and laughs.

"Shut up. Jerk."

"Bitch."

 


End file.
